Of Crossings and Ownership
by titanica94
Summary: When Captain Charles Vane arrives in London to save her from the gallows, Eleanor Guthrie decides it is high time to alter the nature of their relationship – for good.


**Of Crossings and Ownership**

 **When Captain Charles Vane arrives in London to save her from the gallows, Eleanor Guthrie decides it is high time to alter the nature of their relationship – for good.**

"I don't know why I'm here," Captain Charles Vane grumbled as he unsheathed his bloody cutlass from the body of the redcoat that had been assigned to guard her that night.

Eyes wide, Eleanor could do nothing but stare as Vane took his methodical predatory steps toward her from where he had stood just inside the doorway. The London magistrates had not trusted Eleanor in jail, given the potential damage that could be caused should she choose to share particular bits of her knowledge, so she had been sequestered instead in the house of a Lord – Hamilton, in fact, which was a twisted joke of either fate or some other entity.

Since her arrival, London had been entertained with a week of executions of minor pirates – some smugglers and a few petty thieves thrown into the mix – to rile the city into a fever pitch for the execution of the Pirate Queen of Nassau, Eleanor Guthrie. She supposed whenever they ran out of criminals for the opening acts, it would be her turn to be the spectacle.

But now, Vane had come…

"Well, let's bloody get a move on, then," he urged, reaching out and grasping her arm to tug her along toward the door. "I took out all the men I saw, but there could be more. I won't rest easy until we're back on the waves."

Mutely, and in a sort of trance, Eleanor allowed him to guide her down the stairs, dumbly tallying the bodies she passed – three in her line of sight, but doubtless twice that number that were hidden from her. Vane pushed open the front doors and ushered her onto the street and into a carriage. Vane, in a carriage – there was something about that image that tickled the mind, but Eleanor found that she was as unable to produce laughter as any other sound.

Vane sat on the opposite seat, just watching her, his countenance giving nothing away. Finally, he broke the silence.

"You know, Eleanor, I have to wonder how many times I'm going to have to save your life before you realize I'm the best friend you've got."

Eleanor's gaze snapped away from the dark windows and locked on his, meeting his eyes for the first time since he appeared in her chamber. She saw, finally, the vulnerability that welled up deep inside, beneath the steel of the hardened man.

And she felt her heart soften a bit in response and knew that her eyes must be sending a similar message – something more than gratitude, more than longing – something resembling the deepest of trust.

By some minor miracle, Vane managed to smuggle her onto his ship without detection or incident. He led her into his quarters, where he sat down on his cot and leaned forward, elbows on knees, to wearily rub at his stubbled face. He then raised his head to look at Eleanor, standing still at a distance, just inside the door.

Apparently making up her mind, Eleanor took three, four steps closer and then sunk to kneel on the floor before his bed, eyes lowered to his boots. She made to unlace his leather trousers – at which Vane's member sprung to attention – but he blocked her hands, and laid his on either side of her face, pulling her gaze up to him.

"No, Eleanor, no – we have to talk, we can't – you can't just suck me off because you're afraid to talk to me. So talk to me."

Keeping her gaze locked solidly on his, Eleanor licked her lips, drew a deep breath, and replied, "Charles – you saved my life. Again. Let me say thank you. We can talk later; we'll have the whole crossing."

Unable to formulate another argument, this time Vane allowed Eleanor to undo his trousers, pull them down past his hips, and stretch her lips around his member. He sucked in a breath as she hollowed her cheeks and stroked her tongue along the underside of his shaft, tracing the veins as she drew her head back, her eyes averted down to his navel. With single-minded determination, she sucked him back in, relaxed her throat, and took him in completely.

Vane plunged a hand into her bobbing blonde curls, securing a grip so that he could assert some control over her movements. When he neared his completion, he attempted to withdraw, but Eleanor resisted, working him into a fiery oblivion and then swallowing his seed as he released.

He pulled back, tugged his pants back up, and reclined into the bed, his feet never moving from their spot on the floor. Eleanor, for her part, took two long breaths and then hurled herself at his boots, gripping his knees and pressing her face against his shins as she collapsed in sobs.

Vane gently stroked her hair as he waited for her to purge all of her wreckage of emotions and then find the calm that would follow.

Finally, he heard her voice, hoarse and choppy with broken breaths.

"I thought I killed you – I thought you were dead. Then I thought I was going to die, and – Charles. Oh, Charles, I – I couldn't think of any reason you'd save me, I w-wanted you to so badly, but why – why would you rescue a – a traitor? I betrayed you, and I did it for Nassau, but – I betrayed you. And I was wrong, it was a mistake. I made such a mistake, and how – how can you forgive me? _Can_ you forgive me?"

Saying this, she picked her head up and prepared to meet the judgment in his eyes. He remained inscrutable, however, and silent as he considered her words.

After a long pause, Vane reached out, grasped her hands, and pulled her up onto the bed with him so that she was sitting across his lap.

"Why?" he demanded, so quietly it was almost a gruff whisper. "Why _did_ you betray me, Eleanor? Why did you leave me for dead, for my crew to rip me limb from limb for losing our prize to the woman everyone says – you must know this—" he continued, voice rising as his speech grew more impassioned, "Everyone says that you control me somehow, that my actions aren't my own, that you – that you _own_ me, Eleanor. I swore I'd die before I was a slave again, and yet, here we are – and you own me. I heard you'd been captured, and I gathered a crew of any men I could find who think you're needed on the island, and left for fucking London on the chance that I might save your life. You, the woman who's fucked me more times than I can count. You, the woman who would have killed me twice over now."

Vane inhaled deeply, and then roughly pushed the air back out before he added, "Could be that's why I saved you, so you could explain yourself to me. Seems like it's about time for some honesty between us, doesn't it, Eleanor?"

Her clear blue eyes had never wavered from his for the entire duration of his speech, but nor did they reveal anything. The emotions behind them appeared just the same as at the start: fear, guilt, uncertainty, and the tinge of desire that always cape upon her when Vane was near. And again she felt as if an invisible rag that had been stuffed down her throat was preventing any vocalization of her thoughts. To be fair, her thoughts were inchoate at best, and miserably incoherent at worst, those that managed to drag themselves to the surface, above the tumult of guilt and pain that raged across every level of her consciousness.

Eyes fixed on his chin, her mouth hung open slightly as she worked out what to say. After a few minutes of internal struggle, it seemed her brain had settled on formality.

"Captain Vane," she began, softly and in a measured tone, "it is apparent to me that my behavior has been routinely injurious to you, and that my latest betrayal, stealing your – prize, is particularly unforgivable. However, I believe I have thought of an appropriate way to – compensate you for the feeling that I own you, that you are my – slave." Here Eleanor's sharp eyes finally locked on Vane's, guarded as he waited to hear her offer. " _I_ will be _your_ slave. For the remainder of this voyage, I will do your bidding. _You_ will own _me_ , and then perhaps, when we return home to Nassau, we can find a way to live – together."

She raked her eyes over him as she awaited his response, taking in his stiff broad shoulders, his free hand clenched on his upper thigh, the fingers of the other – the one wrapped around her back as she sat trapped between his legs – digging into her waist. His breathing was deliberately even as he considered her offer.

Her eyes returned to his as Vane's deep voice broke the silence.

"You want to be my slave. Why – what makes you think that will solve anything, Eleanor? How will it change what's done?"

Now feeling confident in her decision, Eleanor responded, "I trust you, Charles. I want to show you – to prove to you – that I trust you."

Vane snorted but involuntarily licked his lips. "I think you can show you trust me without becoming my _slave_."

Eleanor knew she had him and finished laying out her position. "Perhaps. But I don't think you can forgive me any other way. You say I'm the woman you loved once who has crossed you more times than you can count. I want to change that. I've seen enough that I need to be something else to you. So," Vane allowed her to break his hold and watched as she calmly, determinedly, knelt once more at his feet, head bowed. "Own me, Captain Vane. I'm yours."


End file.
